The Countdown (The Taking #3)(47)

Thom reached up and rubbed the side of his neck, eyeing Agent Truman anxiously. “Why are you trusting him?” he asked me. And then to Agent Truman, “Why are you helping us?”

Agent Truman pulled out his keys and unhooked a small pocketknife from the ring. He inspected two of the blades, as if he were deciding between them, and then nodded, snapping one back in place. “I’m not. I assume you know what the message meant, that Ochmeel abayal dai garbage?”

I nodded. “The Returned must die.”

Thom jolted. “That’s what Chuck said. Right before . . .” He halted. “Right before the accident.”

“Chuck?” Agent Truman didn’t know about Chuck yet.

“We both know that was no accident,” I said, then turned to fill Agent Truman in. “Nice trucker. Gave us a lift and then blew his brains out, right after he delivered that message. He also said: ‘Time is running out.’” I pictured Chuck the way I’d last seen him alive, with his eyes glowing as he reached out and slammed my head against the window. That hadn’t been him, not really.

“Trucker, huh?” Truman said to Thom. “We wondered what happened. When we couldn’t get them on the horn, we thought they must’ve put you back on the auction block and sold you off to a higher bidder, so we activated your GPS to safeguard our investment. Had no idea we’d find you all the way out here.” He almost cracked a smile. “How the hell’d you get away from them anyhow? They guaranteed us their facility was locked down tight as a tick.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer him, but I couldn’t think of a reason to lie. “They’re dead.”

If I expected a reaction from Agent Truman, I didn’t get it. “I guess that explains the silence on their end.”

I frowned. “If he has a GPS tracker, how come I don’t?”

Agent Truman regarded me. “How do you know you don’t?” He lifted his shoulders. “If you do, it’s not one we were given access to.”

A tracker. If whoever bought me knew where I was that would change everything. My stomach convulsed.

I hated asking, but I needed to know. “Can you tell if I . . . if they . . . put one in me too?”

Agent Truman rolled his eyes. “Relax. The one in him is ours. We supplied it to them. And unless the folks who paid for you have access to highly classified government technology, like the device we put in your friend here, then you’re free and clear.”

He didn’t exactly set my mind at ease, but he had a point. What were the odds there were two government agencies bidding on hybrid alien teens?

I slipped closer to Thom, inspecting his neck. The skin was so smooth . . . as it would be, I supposed. He’d already healed around whatever they’d done to him. “So there’s something in there? And they put it there, Eddie Ray and Natty?”

Agent Truman scoffed. “Natty? I heard that was what she was goin’ by now. Cute.” He used the knife’s tip to point at the bed, indicating it was time to get started. Thom reluctantly settled down.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?”

His eyes slid coolly, calmly, to the knife in his hand. “Haven’t you heard, sport? I’m a doctor.”

Thom closed his eyes as Agent Truman began probing his fingers over the surface of his neck, presumably searching for whatever had been planted inside. I shuddered—he may have been a doctor once, but he had a terrible bedside manner. To distract myself, I pushed for more information. “So you knew Natty?”

“I know . . . knew of her. She had an impressive reputation, that one. She and that partner of hers, Eddie Ray, worked the black market for years. Made a killing. No pun intended.” He winked, making it clear the pun was totally intended. Also, making it clear he had a cold, dead heart. He glanced up at me. “I never really trusted her.” His lips pursed. “Eddie Ray I got—his loyalty was all about the almighty dollar. Whoever had the deepest pockets, you know what I mean.” He pressed his finger over something and Thom grimaced. He seemed to have found whatever it was he was searching for.

Then he got the knife ready.

I spoke up before there was no going back. “Aren’t you at least gonna sterilize that or something?”

“He’ll be fine. That’s the beauty of healing at super-speed. It works to fight off bacteria too. Right, sport?”

Thom opened his eyes and gave me a he’s-not-wrong shrug. I couldn’t exactly argue. If Thom wasn’t freaking out, how could I?

“About this black market you mentioned, what’s that all about? How does that even work? What would anyone even do once they got us?”

Agent Truman gave me a quick but critical glance. “You’re not that naive, are you? You can’t tell me you’d be surprised to know how valuable you—we”—he corrected, because we all knew he was a Returned as well—“are on the open market. People pay big money for crazy shit. My division alone ponied up a crap ton for ol’ Tommy Boy here, all in the name of science.” He leaned over Thom and leered into his face, reminding me why I always thought of him as a shark.

“You’re the worst.”

“I doubt that. There are some sick SOBs out there, people who like to . . .” He jammed the tip of his knife into Thom’s throat, making Thom flinch. He didn’t actually cut him open or anything, but it left a nasty mark. “. . . experiment,” he finished.